Shapes shifting through the sheets
of paper, in my dreams
soft pillow seams, we move like a gentle
firey breeze -
your shape consumes me.

I have never seen volcanoes, yet my
thoughts erupt in shapes.
What is it to desire a shape ?

A venetian spell of curved brushes to cheeks,
dreaming of the days and weeks I could
lay, still, yet volcanic, staring opposite your face, in embrace and tracing your skin with my finger.

Like a brush stroke,
my muse

what is it to loose the memory of a body?

Every trace and touch
each mahogany blush
within the rush of lust,
a cosmic trust between body to body
and mind, to the Hearts’ justice.

A sketch,
first love.
I cloak and glove the painting of you
moving through new shapes away from
view, yet sometimes with solemn and blue, sly Fate washes water-coloured visions and crimson hues through my mind and i’m reminded of each line, curve and shape.

Oh desire ! What a profound honour
to know a body beyond shape.

In a breeze of timid whispers
and with wary downcast eyes
the secret world was opened
to where true depth of feeling lies.

With each step, stories were told
and a tapestry of intimacy unfolded.
to dare or not to dare
to care or not to care.
In the dog-days of romance,
those are the calls
that lovebirds must answer.

And our intimacy gave way to intimate moments.
Breathy moans and flushed skin gave way to
the light brushing of fingers, the spiral of legs, and giggles as pillow talk.
I traveled the world and still never forgot about you,
always anxious to return to the places I could never venture.
I long for the groceries never bought, the flowers never replaced, the drinks never shared.
And who took it all away from me but myself.
It was a love sabotaged by situation and undeniable truths,
an intimacy whose essence was its demise.

Feelings of ecstasy
fills up an empty lonely room,
His words, "I want to fill/feel myself in you"

Intimacy; into admitting those desires not of public ear
A request to touch her as if it were their very last;
a sort of lust rush, as he pulls her near

And from the sight of red eyes, a few hours
before, when they had passionately cried
Falling into sight; a blush picture of her
cheeks painted in cherry red
Giving into their feelings; all unquestioned
reasons to be sharing a bed,—

Tonight,
could be a long night of bodies being next
to each other, making up tomorrow's memory
And if it hurts to bite, her response,
"nothing hurts better of what pleasures me"

...mmmh, it's all but basic reality,
yet feels so much like a fantasy
Playing into future events in their heads
of a present affair. A make up type of ***
to forget about old history

                                 Awaiting their ******.

I almost started

kissing the lips above me --


but it's a doctor.